


synchronicity (i'll be waiting for you, pretty boy)

by 702reid



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:34:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25582927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/702reid/pseuds/702reid
Summary: Derek gives him the most beautiful smile Spencer has ever seen before in his life, and he is twenty-two again, and Derek is kissing him and he is never going to be happier than he is right now.
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid
Comments: 14
Kudos: 210





	synchronicity (i'll be waiting for you, pretty boy)

**Author's Note:**

> hey what the FUCK was that scene about "being bound together through space and time for 500 years" ?????? HUH????? i immediately had to write something although i don't actually reference that quote anywhere in this
> 
> (fyi i made up some names/cases/dates. i could not for the life of me find any info on when anyone joined the bau. idk if they ever actually mentioned it in the show either... i didn't check so if things are a little inaccurate don't come for me!!!)

Spencer Reid is not good at first impressions.

Which wouldn't usually bother him too much—he'd explain the whole 'I don't do handshakes' thing: _it's because of the germs, you know,_ and then go off on a tangent about just how many germs were on the surface of someone's palm at any given time (at _least_ 3,000 different types of bacteria belonging to over 100 species...), and everything would be fine—except for today it _does_ bother him because Derek Morgan was so _good_ at first impressions.

And he wanted Derek to like him. 

Derek had come jogging over to him, the last of his new coworkers to do so. He was all smiles and neatly pressed two-piece suits, and he stuck out a hand.

"Hey, kid. I'm Derek Morgan," he had said, his voice smooth and saccharine and like honey, and _oh, god._ Spencer was doomed from the start, really. 

And Spencer had hesitated, and he didn't shake Derek's hand, and instead he had told him, "Oh, uh, I don't really shake hands," and then he watched as Derek took a tiny step back, his eyebrows all crinkled, obviously caught off guard.

Spencer feels _bad_ about it, so he immediately rushes to clarify it with, "It's, um, it's a germ thing, not a _you_ thing, I'm sorry."

And Derek laughs, nods his head and gives him an easy-going " _a'ight_ ," but Spencer still feels like a total jerk (because _who_ wouldn't shake someone else's hand, for fuck's sake?) and he is _convinced_ that Derek hates him.

So he mumbles out an extra _I'm sorry_ just for good measure before walking over to the only empty desk in the pen, the one that Hotch had pointed out to him earlier. _His_ desk. It almost doesn't feel real, in a way. 

_October 24th, 2004._ He takes a breath, full of nervous energy. He's been waiting for this day for what feels like his entire life. 

He sets his bag down, pulls out book after well-loved book (leave it to him to tell himself he's "only going to bring a _few_ books" along with him for some "light reading" and still end up bringing 15 plus) and sets those aside too, and then realizes that he never told Derek his name. 

Feeling like an idiot, he runs back over to where Derek is standing, near the coffee machine in the corner with Penelope, the tech analyst, and says, "My name's Spencer, by the way, Spencer Reid."

Penelope giggles and glances over at Derek, who is stirring his coffee and smiling as he does it. And Spencer can feel his cheeks turning red because Derek is really attractive and he's making a fool out of himself.

"Nice to meet you, Spencer." The smile never leaves his lips; Spencer doesn't ever want it to.   
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  


They're in California for a case. Los Angeles. Spencer's busy standing in front a map that is tacked to a whiteboard, a hand pressed hard over his lips as he studies the city's traffic patterns and its many ( _many_ —31 in the greater L.A. area and surrounding counties) freeways.

"This is—" an LAPD detective sighs to a coworker of his, another detective who's going on his third cup of coffee, exasperated, "I mean, Jesus, man. Do you know how _big_ L.A. is? It's gonna take us forever to get this son of a bitch."

"502.7 square miles," Spencer mumbles offhandedly, more to himself than anyone else. He gets a few stares and a couple double-takes but he's used to it, has been ever since elementary school, "But... Hey, Morgan? C'mere, I think I've got something here."

(Derek had, one day, told him to _just call me Morgan, kid._ Spencer had immediately decided he liked that.)

Spencer points to an area on the map that's right on the outskirts of Studio City, 2.3 miles away, marked by a few yellow sticky-arrows, and continues, "See this, right here?"

Derek's suddenly over by his side, standing a little too close to him. He chuckles, "Uh... Yeah? Sure? You're gonna need to explain that, pretty boy. 'Cause it just looks like another freeway entrance to me."

But he doesn't explain it, because he _can't_. His eyebrows leap for his forehead and his mouth involuntarily falls open, and all Spencer is focusing on now ( _can_ focus on) are the words _pretty boy_. And, yeah, it's Derek, Derek's got nicknames for almost everyone on the team. So why does this feel so... _different?_

(He's probably just reading into things too much, he thinks. He's got a terrible habit of reading into things too much.)

He spits out his explanation, and maybe it's not as coherent as it should've been (he's kind-of _distracted_ at the moment, to be fair), but it still ends up being exactly what they needed when they needed it, and Derek is looking at him like—

Like—

Well. It's something that Spencer _can't_ explain, for once. It's probably nothing, he thinks. Because, after all, he couldn't even manage to shake Derek's hand all those months back. Derek probably doesn't even like him—not in the way Spencer's hoping for, at least...

...He pauses, thinks about when _that_ happened.  
  
  


* * *

  
  


The first time Spencer watches Derek get shot, Hotch has to physically stop him from running into the building after him, because he is _not_ wearing a bulletproof vest at the moment (and that's the last thing on Spencer's mind, the gunshot still ringing loud in his ears being the _first_ ) and besides, _Derek's fine, Reid._

They're in Brooklyn, New York, helping the NYPD out on a mob case. Garcia had given them an address downtown. It was for some hole-in-the-wall pizza place with a generic name like _Joe's_ or _Joey's_ , and Derek had gone in first and Spencer wishes he could _do more_ than just clutch onto Hotch's arm like the world fucking depended on it. His legs feel strangely like Jell-O.

Hotch and Gideon arrest Ianucci and his buddies not long after, and Hotch calls for a medic, thank god, and Spencer's heart rate finally slows, albeit not by _much_. But then Derek turns to face him and he smiles that wonderful smile of his and Spencer's heart races all over again.

"You okay?" Spencer asks, soft, studies the blood caked onto Derek's t-shirt before he decides that he has to look away. Blood takes ages to get out of fabric once it's in there like that.

How Derek can _laugh_ and _smile_ after a bullet had just gone through his shoulder is absolutely beyond Spencer, but he does. "I'm fine, kid," he says, just like Hotch had told Spencer over and over, "Don't you worry about me."

The ambulances pull up then, and the noise of the city drowns out the cry of the sirens. Spencer volunteers to ride with them to the hospital.  
  
  


(And when Spencer gets shot for the first time on a case, and Derek watches, he does the same thing. He lies there in the bed of an ambulance, speeding through a city whose name is slipping his mind. He can see the lights out the back window, flashing red and yellow in the distance, and Derek holds him so close that it hurts.) 

* * *

Spencer breaks down in a cemetery. He shoots Hankel and then wonders if it was the right thing to do. He's always second-guessing himself, even now, even fucking _now:_ _If only he could have helped him, if only he'd said all the right things like Gideon does so easily, so effortlessly, then maybe_ —

But he's not Gideon, and Tobias is dead.

He cries and cries into Derek's shoulder and pockets what's left of Tobias' stash of Dilaudid.

He will never be Gideon.

Tobias will always be dead, rotting under the ground somewhere, with nothing but an unmarked tombstone to remember him by. 

"You scared the shit outta me, Spencer," Derek whispers, and Spencer only stands there, silent. Derek's got a hand buried in his hair; it feels nice. "I'm so fucking glad you're okay."

( _Okay_. He wants to laugh. 

He doesn't.)

When the day comes to an end and Spencer finally crawls into bed, it's late. Or - maybe it's early, he can see the sky beginning to change colors. Or - he's not really sure what time it is. His entire body aches, and throbs, and he does his best to ignore it.

Only - after a while, he can't. 

With a groan, he pulls himself up and dazedly walks to the bathroom and stares at his reflection in the mirror until it feels like he's looking at a different person. Maybe he is. Out of the corner of his eye he catches a text lighting up his phone's screen before it dims black again.

**Derek:** _hey, kid. text me if u need anything, u know i'm here for u always_ (@ 3:54 A.M.)

_3:54 A.M.,_ so that's what time it is. 

Tears blur his vision as he plunges a syringe full of Dilaudid into the crook of his elbow. He cannot for the life of him remember if he ever ended up responding to Morgan's text.

Hotch had insisted that he took the next couple days off. Spencer didn't feel like arguing with him like he usually would. But after a few hours alone, he thinks, everything blends together; hazy, like some sort of a weird dream.

He closes his eyes and watches Tobias die all over again. Raphael dies. Charles dies, too. He dies, himself, four funerals behind his eyelids. He ends each night with a shot of Dilaudid and a guilty conscience.

* * *

  
  


"Hey! Pretty boy! Welcome back," Derek leaps up at the sight of Spencer, grins in a way that makes his nose scrunch. It's Spencer's first day back; he'd somehow even gotten cleared and everything. He isn't sure how that happened. Derek studies him with chocolate-brown eyes. "You look like you haven't slept in _days_."

"That's because, ah, I haven't, really," Spencer admits with a shrug, and his voice falls a little too flat for it to go unnoticed, and it's silent for a moment until JJ comes in and announces that they've got a case. Houston, and _guys, it's kind of a bad one_. 

Spencer dumps sugar packet after sugar packet into a cup of bitter, black coffee (it's the only way he's ever liked his coffee, or maybe it's just the _sugar_ that he liked. Derek had always teased him because of it: _"You want some coffee with your sugar, pretty boy?"_

For a moment, he smiles).

He half-listens to what JJ's saying, doesn't fully register the images presented on the screen. He shifts in his seat, feeling rather uncomfortable suddenly, and talks himself out of running to the bathroom to shoot up.

Or - no, that's not right. He gives in, and now he's standing there inside a locked stall, eyes glazed, world fading in and out, and looking down at fresh track marks. 

Spencer stays in there for a couple minutes too long and barely boards the plane in time. He doesn't notice the worried glances that Derek sneaks his way. 

* * *

It gets bad in New Orleans. The first person he admits he's struggling to - actually admits it to, _out loud_ and everything - is Gideon, and it's a lot harder than Spencer ever expected it to be. 

"Well," Gideon is saying, under the dimmed, low lights of the crowded bar they're sitting in, and Spencer has to lean in close to really hear him. He watches Gideon swirl a drink in his hand. "Anybody who's been through what you've been through recently, would." 

And it gets him thinking about this; about _everything._ How _this,_ the BAU, was supposed to be the one thing he'd trained for, never even considered another option, and _what if he's not cut out for this after all?_

He tells Gideon exactly that. It might've come out a bit more panicky than he'd intended. 

When Gideon's words do little to tide him over anymore, when it's late and he's all by himself in his apartment and staring out at the city and its glowing skyline from behind a closed window, tears threatening to spill from his eyes like a flash flood, he reaches for his phone. He sighs. 

**Spencer:** _...too late to take you up on that offer?_ (@ 1:01 A.M.) 

_(He hadn't ever responded to that text from Derek, the one from that night when he was too high to—)_

**Derek:** _for u?never too late, pretty boy_ (@ 1:03 A.M.) 

_(What does that mean—)_

**Derek:** _i'm omw_ (@ 1:03 A.M.)

_(Oh, god—)_

Then he waits there, waits agonizingly for the soft tap of Derek's knuckles on his front door, and why, all of a sudden, is his stomach in knots? And then he can't help it: the second he opens the door and sees Derek standing outside the frame ( _resplendent_ is the first word that comes to mind, he looks _so resplendent_ even under the shitty hallway lighting), he cries. Lets Derek hold him while he sobs and shakes and struggles to catch his breath. 

"Hey," Derek's voice is a low whisper, close to his ear, "Where's your head at right now, kid? Tell me what's going on."

Spencer doesn't want to say it. Doesn't want to admit it. He shoves his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking, and figures that Derek almost certainly knows already. He doesn't _need_ to admit it. 

"I'm," he starts. Pauses, licks his overly dry lips and tries again, "I... Thank you. For coming here. You didn't have to, and I really _—_ It means _—_ "

Derek seems to get it. 

So Spencer leaves it at that and hopes it's enough.

They ( _they;_ Derek had spent the night on Spencer's couch. Spencer doesn't recall ever asking him to, but he's glad that he did) wake up to the news of a fresh case. 

Spencer rubs the sleep from his eyes and stumbles into the bathroom. He doesn't feel too good, kind-of like he's about to vomit, or pass out. Maybe both, but he deliberately chooses to ignore it.

"Mornin', pretty boy," Derek's voice sounds far, a ways away, like he isn't standing right there but he _is._ He thinks that maybe they're underwater, and the last thing Spencer can see before he hits the ground is Derek's smile quickly fading. 

For a moment, fleeting, he wakes up and he doesn't know where he is. It's not until he starts to drowsily look around - at the earth-toned tiled floors, the olive green shower curtain, the soap dish on the counter - that he realizes he's in his bathroom. 

_Strange. How did he get here?_

He groans, rubbing his temples. It takes a while for his vision to adjust. And once it does, his heart nearly stops because _—_

Charles is there. _Here_. Towering over him in a way that makes him feel helpless, and Spencer hears him snarl in that chilling voice of his, mocking him in a way that makes Spencer's stomach twist, and then Spencer is arguing and pleading with him because _no, no, I'm not a sinner_ , and _—_

He's able to catch his breath when he realizes that it's just Derek. 

"Hey," Derek says, steady, with a calmness Spencer could only dream of, "You're okay, Spencer. He's not here. Tobias isn't here. It's me, it's Morgan. It's just me, kid."

A sob leaves his lips at that, at the _'kid'_ he had tacked onto the end of his sentence, and he shoves a knuckle in his mouth to muffle it. 

"When's the last time you had an actual meal?" Derek asks, and his tone shifts, and his lips curve into a frown, "Or had anything to drink, or _—_?"

Spencer stares at the ceiling, at that crack in the wall he's been meaning to have fixed since he doesn't know how long anymore, at... Well. Anything, _anything_ but Derek. "I don't-" he chokes out, and it feels like the words are struggling to escape from his bone-dry throat, "I can't remember." 

"I'm calling Hotch," Derek is saying, and Spencer's busy wincing at the sharp ache in his throat, and then it hits him, what Derek just said, and _—_

"No," he begs. 

" _Reid—_ "

Tears spill from his eyes like a river, overflowing. " _Please_. Please don't call Hotch." 

"Kid, you're not ready to come on this case with us," Derek says, and it _hurts_ , but somewhere deep down, Spencer knows he's right. And that hurts even more, he thinks.

Eventually he gives in, and he stammers, "Fine, just _—_ Just tell him I'm sick or something, anything, just not... Not this," he waves his hand around in the air before letting it drop, hitting the floor with a muted _thud_. His hands move to his elbows, and he keeps them tightly clamped over the marks there. 

He can't quite make out the expression that's on Derek's face; he just _can't_ seem to put his finger on it, and that bothers him a little more than it should. "Okay," Derek nods. He repeats it, louder this time, "Okay. But I'm not goin' anywhere, kid, I hope you know that."

"Derek, _what_ , no, there's a case, you can't _—_ " Spencer protests with wide eyes and an open jaw. 

"They'll be fine," Derek insists, and he says it with such conviction that Spencer believes it: _yeah, they will be fine,_ "It's you I'm worried about."

It hits him like a punch to the gut.

* * *

Spencer had been doing okay, all things considered, except now he realizes that's not true, that it was more like...

He had just _convinced_ himself that he was doing okay; that no one on his team had noticed how fucking bad it had gotten; that he was perfectly fine coming into work every day and dealing with UnSubs who reminded him so much of Tobias Hankel, all he could do was sob; and he realizes it in the middle of an overdose on the floor of a police station bathroom in Kansas City, Missouri, of all places.

He's alone when it happens. So terribly alone, 'cause he'd told his team to just _go without him, he'd be there in a minute, promise._

And they'd listened. They had all left.

His eyelids droop, and he fights to keep them open, and he wipes desperately at the dried blood clotted in the pit of his elbow. He can feel his head fall forward, and it's cold, so very cold.

He forces his eyes open again and this time around there is a man standing above him who looks an awful lot like Tobias, and the man frowns, and Spencer really, really doesn't want Tobias to be the last thing he sees before he dies, _why is he even here anyway—?_

The room he's in (the bathroom?) is dim when he opens his eyes. 

He squints, takes in his surroundings. A hospital. He's in a hospital room, laying on a hospital bed with flat, uncomfortable hospital pillows. He knows that much. What he can't figure out, though, is _why_ he's here, what happened, did he stupidly take his vest off around yet another unstable UnSub again, did he get shot, _he's gotta stop doing that_ —

"Hey, pretty boy."

Derek has got a look on his face that makes Spencer's heart sink, a terrible kicked puppy look, and whatever Spencer was about to say next never makes it past his lips. 

Spencer can feel his hands starting to shake and he rushes to hide them underneath the blanket. The IV in his arm shifts and he clenches his teeth, and he thinks that is possibly one of the worst sensations he's ever had the displeasure of experiencing.

The silence in the room is heavy, overwhelming. He wants to ask what happened to him - what awful event had occurred to cause Derek to look at him like that, but every time he opens his mouth he just _cannot_ seem to ever get the words out. He swallows hard and chews on his bottom lip.

"Spencer, you overdosed," Derek tells him, as if he had read Spencer's mind, and Spencer grimaces, "You're at Saint Luke's Hospital in Kansas City."

Yes, he remembers it now. 

He's speechless; doesn't know what to say. Not right now, not after the second time it happens. He will never know what to say. Derek will always have that kicked puppy look on his face, and Spencer will always want to cry when he looks at him like that. 

* * *

He detoxes. Spends some time in rehab. 

He even gets his one year sober chip. He takes it with him on every case, tucked away somewhere in his messenger bag, or in his pocket, but every time he looks at it he's reminded of Derek's horrible expression (the one Spencer never wants to see again), or Hotch's _I'm-disappointed-in-you_ frown, or JJ sobbing into Emily's shoulder.

And even now, even after all this time, he still doesn't know what to say. 

He guesses he can at least thank Derek for being there with him through it all. That would be a good place to start. 

* * *

Spencer winces to himself when he cuts his hand on a rosebush. 

"You all right, pretty boy?" Derek stops short and throws a concerned glance his way. 

Spencer nods, dabbing the blood away. He hums out a response because he doesn't want Derek to worry about him; it's just a cut, he's seen worse. And Derek, he's noticed, kind-of likes to worry about him. A lot. 

"Ah, shit, hold on. I gotta take this," Derek mutters, holding up his phone which is currently in the middle of ringing, and then, "Yeah, Prentiss, what's up?"

There's a beat.

"--'s clean?" Is all Spencer's able to catch, because Spencer, instead of staying put and waiting for Derek like he _very much should have done,_ pushes the slightly ajar door open all the way and steps inside Nichols' house, looking around, and then he just sort-of freezes as he realizes that this is... Extremely not good, _shit, shit, shit, goddamn it, shit-_

He slams the door shut before Derek is able to follow him in, frantically shouting at him to, "get back, get back, get out of here, go, _you need to get back,_ " and Derek, of course, is arguing and asking him what's wrong and all he can say is _I'm sorry._

He locks the door. Somehow the barely audible _click_ of the lock is the loudest thing in the world, seemingly sealing his fate, and the look on Derek's face is enough to break his heart. 

_How did he not see it, how did he screw up so badly, how-?_

He starts pacing. He thinks of his mom. How long has it been since he'd last talked to her?

He thinks of Derek, too, of everything he's ever wanted to tell him but couldn't. _Hadn't_. 

He dials Garcia's number and she picks it up on the first ring, because that's what she does, and instead of being greeted with her usual cheerful tone and hilarious one-liners, Spencer is met with, "Hey, Reid."

"Hey," he echoes, then attempts a joke, "No witty Garcia greeting for me?"

She gives him a half-hearted laugh.

"Do you think you could do something for me?"

"Anything," she answers, right-away without even missing a beat because that's what she does, and he suddenly chokes up when he asks her if she could record a message for him _in case anything happens to me._

"Spencer," and Penelope sounds like she's on the verge of tears as she says, "Nothing's gonna happen to you, you're gonna figure everything out and you're gonna be fine. You always figure it out."

"Please."

There is a pause on her end. "Okay."

"Hi, mom. It's Spencer. Just, um. Just really wanted you to know that I love you, and..." he struggles to hold back a sob, digging his nails into the skin of his palm. His voice breaks, "I _need_ you to know that I spend every day of my life proud to be your son. And—And, Morgan? I wanted to tell you that I've loved you since the day I met you, and that's not an exaggeration, either. I just didn't want _this_ to be how I finally told you. I'm sorry, I-I've gotta go—" 

* * *

He wakes up coughing in a hospital bed, uncomfortable, and all he can think about is how much he hates hospitals. Always has and always will, probably. There's just something about the _lighting_ , and they're not as clean as one would assume, and they remind him of the times he overdosed, and...

His eyes land on Derek, who is sitting across from him and holding a cup of Jell-O in one hand and a plastic spoon in the other. His foot taps rhythmically on the floor.

"Is that Jell-O?" Spencer asks. His head is throbbing, and his mouth is dry, and he'd really like some Jell-O, "Is there any more?"

"Hey, kid. You've _gotta_ stop landin' yourself in the hospital," Derek grins, absolutely lighting up the room in a way that would make even the sun herself jealous - and suddenly Spencer is twenty-two again, meeting Derek for the first time— _October 24th, 2004, he'll never forget it, even if he didn't have an eidetic memory he swears he wouldn't_ —and he is so ridiculously in love with him, it hurts.

So he tells Derek exactly that. 

He takes a breath and starts, "Derek, I am so..." he pauses, and _just say it, for fuck's sake_ , "... _So_ ridiculously in love with you."

Derek gives him the most beautiful smile Spencer has ever seen before in his life, and _he is twenty-two again_ , and suddenly Derek is kissing him and he is never going tobe happier than he is right now.

**Author's Note:**

> please b nice!!! wasn't gonna post this but i figured i'd regret it more if i didn't than if i did 
> 
> yes i put a b99 ref in here and that is simply because i can't come up w names :•)


End file.
